Show Me Open Fields

 

Show Me Open Fields

(“He sent Jesus to bless you by turning each of you away from doing evil things.” Acts 4:26b)

The smokestacks belch their acrid breath into
the air where deer should dance. The preachers ask
for allegiance sworn upon
the platforms of denial and mock trials of every
person who disagrees.

Shut up behind the doors of sunday, pretense
like a hollow drum repeats the clicking of teeth
at everything that must be defeated before we go
to an early lunch.

Don’t talk about me while I’m living,
don’t talk about me when I’ve died.
Just give me greater room to breathe,
show me open fields and I will not hide.

The dandelions wave their yellow heads and shed
their hairs turned white. We mow them down,
unwanted weeds we could have gardened,
turned to wine and celebrated
on spring days away from the smokey blindness
that tried to hide
the sun from upturned faces.

Shut behind the doors of doctrine, certainty
like a scorched pancake leaves us emptier than
when we began. We will stand to read the creeds,
and sit to gossip about those who live too loudly
at an early lunch.

Learn to love while we are living,
don’t wait until we have died.
Open the windows, clear the air,
join the picnic that is universe wide.